


Glass Castle

by MisterPseudonymous



Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, Naruto
Genre: Awkward Dates, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Reader-Insert, Shinki Builds the Ship, Some Kankuro/Reader Elements, minor politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-10 15:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13504839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisterPseudonymous/pseuds/MisterPseudonymous
Summary: A princess in a castle of glass; a king in a city of sand.





	1. A Different Arrangement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morveren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morveren/gifts).



> Because Black Marble and music in general keeps giving me chapter names...
> 
> "Day or night  
> There is landslide  
> This time, this time
> 
> Pay no mind  
> There will be landmines  
> This time, this time
> 
> Piece of mind say….
> 
> Stay behind  
> There's a crack in the railroad tie  
> This time... this time  
> These strange lines  
> Where your life is just alibis and no crimes, no crimes
> 
> Piece of mind… they're just pieces...  
> These strange lines say I…"
> 
>  
> 
> [ Black Marble — A Different Arrangement](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fcdt0b56zYc%22)
> 
>  
> 
> Blame Morveren for this. Seriously. I was actually working on a Kankuro fic and then she derailed me.

Your life dangled over the precipice of change, much like the world in the last decade or so since…

You taped the nondescript cardboard box closed and slapped a premade shipping label with abandon. Within that meager box laid all your memories and keepsakes. Everything else was thrown away.

The small apartment in the _rebuilt_ Konoha was bare, empty, walls freshly coated in a neutral off-white—the heavy scent of solvent based paint made you dizzy. You and your box were the only objects left.

High-noon sunlight poured in from a large window. This would be someone else’s home to make memories because it was no longer yours, not anymore. 

Hefting the box in one arm, you walked to the doorway one last time. Even the scuff marks from when you used to kick the door closed had been thoroughly scrubbed pristine.

As if you had never been.

Instead of lingering in the past, you pushed the thoughts aside like turning the page of a book before actually reading. You did not think of how the two story home at the end of the intersection used to be a humble house of a childhood friend before…

You quickened your gait, all but sprinting to the post office.

 _This Konoha_ could never be the Konoha from your memories—not unlike a scab you could not help but pick at until it bled raw. You wanted to rip it off and be done.

You wanted to be done.

If the haggard worker at the service desk was off-put by your blatant blasé, his sunken, dark eyes revealed nothing. Regardless, you confirmed the address—your new residence in Suna—and half hoped the parcel never arrived. Then your past ties would be decisively severed.

With no further travail, you left the village that had been your home for years, following the somewhat roundabout itinerary—there was no direct train nor funds to purchase expeditious passage to Suna—the Allied Peace Corps provided. 

You were done. The heavy scent of ozone before a spring rain permeated the air.

***

You imagined the arid deserts of Kaze no Kuni to be evocative of a sandy beach without waves, without vexing humidity, and without bothersome people.

Those delusions, those assumptions dissipated under the unrelenting igneous fireball hovering in the sky formerly known as the sun. Even though your sweat quickly evaporated, you never stopped sweating. Perhaps the lingering sensation of sweat from a humid environs was more frustrating, but the whole terrain waged psychological warfare. And you would break before long.

The desert was nothing more than a jejune waste of nothing. The heat compounded upon itself, making you bake even under your tawny cowl— _thinking_ made it _hotter_. You regretted taking the job so much, but it was far too late to turn back.

Your only consolation was the fact that you had both a guide to the village and a camel to ride. Patting the animal on the neck, you indignantly yelped when the camel bucked. 

Your guide chuckled softly from under his hood and spoke, waylaying your woes. “It’s alright. She just got excited. You’ll be fine.”

Still hugging slash clinging onto the camel for dear life, you replied meekly, “I hope so.”

He assured you innumerably that you would soon be upon the village, even when you did not ask. As if he could sense your trepidation and doubt. Were you that transparent?

You missed the shade under old verdant trees, of their subtle scent carried on gentle breezes. It had only been a handful of days and you were not even at the village, but you missed Konoha—you missed the very place that made you wallow in the sorrows of the past with every waking moment.

But you threw it away. It was too late. 

It would be over in two years. Less if you found success with your research. Your work would be your constant, your means of survival. There was no choice.

Suna came into view, just as your temporary companion promised, a sliver of sorrel stucco edifices walled by drastic cliffs. Did the people make it long ago, you idled, or did a grand entity sculpt with sand and stone for no other reason than taedium vitae?

You crossed the precipice, dour faced shinobi from atop their posts on the wall stared down but did nothing to bar your entry into the village proper, an isolated world of sepia grit. Somehow you imagined that simply _arriving_ would put your mind at ease.

Instead you dwelled on everything you would no longer have. A sense of detached stoicism—you felt neither better nor worse. Two years. Only two years.

You dismounted from the ecru furred camel, as your guide’s services lasted only until you reached Sunagakure. 

“Do you need further assistance,” he offered ever so politely. The stranger’s kindness warmed your heart. 

“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you for getting me here safely.” You were not fain to impose.

He nodded, only his green eyes visible from his layers of protective garb. “Hayate.”

You waved as he left, the unmounted camel barely needing any coaxing to follow him. “Take care, Hayate.”

Alone with your thoughts once more, you fished through your pockets, searching for the paperwork detailing just where you needed to go. Everything looked the same to your unaccustomed eyes, and you did not want to seem like a total ignorant rube. You could figure it out on your own, or at least make an attempt.

“Oy.” The fact that you had not been aware of his approach startled you until you realized Sunagakure championed a large population of shinobi—especially so with the newer policies implemented during the modern era. “You’re the farmer from Konoha?” His even baritone inferred that it was not a question, not really.

He wore black, a drastic contrast, face painted a stark white aside from bold violaceous accents. You thought of the various strains of lavender and violets that could produce a similar gradient of regal purple. 

His hand rested defiantly on his hip. You had yet to speak.

“Sorry. Hello.” You offered both your name and right hand to shake, he mirrored the gesture. You took comfort in his calluses, not unlike your own. Even though your professions were vastly different, your hands—a testament of both hard work and skill—were a common ground.

Not that you would ever say that cheesy patois out loud. 

“Kankuro.” He waved for you to follow as he began a brisk walk. The action almost seemed dismissive, but you doubted that was his true intent. “There’s a stack of paperwork, but I figure you’d rather get settled first. ‘Sides, a storm is coming.”

You snorted derisively, this whole move had been _nothing but paperwork_. Of course there was more. “Can’t escape bureaucracy.” 

He chuckled, leading you to newer construction—stairs cut from the subsidiary wall, ascending beyond your vantage. “The winds are strong here… perhaps it’ll blow away?”

You climbed in silence, primarily because it was more taxing than you cared to acknowledge. For sure, you would not be making needless trips up these dreadful stairs. 

Kankuro must have been a mind reader and laughed at your expense. “You’ll get used to it.”

You did not answer for fear of losing the breath you barely even had.

After an undisclosed sempiternity, the trek ended with you worn and weary. Kankuro had not even broke a sweat. 

But the sight of the greenhouse stole your breath. A culmination of various nations' latest technologies and engineering, the greenhouse was one of the first and _the first_ to implement diffused glass—providing greater durability and distributing sunlight evenly while lessening its harsh effects.

Kankuro pointed to a simple adobe shanty, a stone’s throw from the collosal glass structure. “This is you. Do you need help settling?”

Shaking your head, you were more than ready just to crash. “No. I’ll be fine for now.”

“Ehh… Alright. Someone’ll stop by tomorrow to guide you around. Perhaps some of that paperwork too.”

You blanched at the prospect. “Thank you, Kankuro.”

He grinned dangerously disarmingly. “No, thank you. The work you're doing will be a great service to Suna. This couldn’t have been an easy decision for you.”

Reflecting on his words, you spoke before realizing, “Easier than you’d think.”

The man quirked a dark brow, interest clearly piqued. “Sounds like you have a story.”

Immediately embarrassed by your faux pas, you deflected, “A boring story, for sure.” You were an agriculturist, a glorified farmer. The shinobi before you lived fascinating tales you only heard of.

“A boring story is still a story,” he countered without missing a beat. “And it might be less boring over a few drinks.” He winked before dashing off the edge of the cliff, using the simple half wall that served as a barrier to vault.

Did he just—

You couldn’t even—

Thoroughly flustered, you entered your new home, not bothering to become familiar with the interior. You found your bedroom. You made your bed with soft sheets and too many pillows, and you lay in it.


	2. Way To Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Doesn't matter what's tripping you out, there's ways to go  
> This is where we get carried away enough to start again"
> 
> "Because heartbreak's coming to bend us the wrong way  
> Plays us, memory will change it into old things"
> 
> [Empire of the Sun — Way To Go](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xg9ebVTL9yE)
> 
> I don't think I proofread this chapter as well as I should have. So will prob be doing minor adjustments.

You woke in the middle of the night to the howling of some unknown horrid sandy abomination, and cursed being alone and so isolated atop the inner wall. When finally you mustered the courage to peek outside the narrow window—a trait common from your cursory inspection of Suna’s architecture earlier—your wide eyes greeted pure pitch blackness.

Sand smashed against the window before violent winds scattered them once more. The sandstorm.

Unable to fall back asleep, you used a penlight to navigate the rustic room until you found a switch for the lights, stinging your eyes until you became adjusted. You spent the indistinct hours jotting necessities that you would have to purchase—clothing and nonperishable pantry goods—and also skimming through the verbose documents pertaining to the Allied Peace Corps objectives regarding Suna and the nation as a whole by extension.

For the most part, all you had to do was get crops to grow within the greenhouse and-or cultivate hardier plants that, hopefully, would survive outside. Honestly, the amount of free reign you had startled you immensely... Because your success would facilitate the Koumeigawa Project. 

How drastic life in Kaze no Kuni would change if they had their own river! The irrigation possibilities alone could—

But first, you had to grow tomatoes… tomatoes were a good starting point. Or maybe sorghum as well? Best not to get too ahead of your ambitions.

Once thoroughly spent from the arduous and menial but pivotal task, you examined the humble abode’s interior more fastidious now that rest—even interrupted—reinvigorated your muscles to a dull ache, minute and almost forgotten. But there.

As you expected, the design was not unlike an efficiency—only your bedroom was an actual room with a door and all that jazz. The main living area had a mini fridge powered by wonderful electricity and a simple-borderline-antiquated gas—if you guessed correctly—stove oven combination. Though you saw a counter and basin for food preparation, you did not find any faucet.

Or a toilet.

You recalled a curious pot in your bedroom, but your brain refused to logically identify its purpose. 

Resolving to not dwell on basic amenities you now lack from your relocation, you simply grabbed a handful of moist towelettes to wipe yourself, tied up your tousled hair, and slapped a faded cap to cover the rest. You were here to build something new; not linger on what was. It was about _where you were going, not where you came from_.

Or what you could not have.

A knock, or rather two firm knocks, effectively killed your thought processes and equally hurled your hammering heart into your throat. Unsteadily, you shambled the scant meters to open the door. 

“Hello,” you greeted your visitor nervously, attempting to quell the anxiety you never had before. 

“Hello.” The man crossed his arms rather defensively. A benign breeze—belying the afore storm—caught the edges of his deep burgundy trench coat but your eyes could not long shy from his pale face. It was not attraction per se—though you could not deny he was comely. There was something… something else. 

His sanguine hair, parted so neatly, reminded you of red tuberous begonias—too much sun and the petals burned, too little and they never bloomed. Perhaps you could reserve a spot in your greenhouse for flowers…

You stared deeply, admittedly rudely, into his beryl eyes. Then it clicked. Your gaze drifted but a fraction higher. He. Had. No. Eyebrows. 

As if he knew where you were looking, he furrowed his browless brow, and uncrossed his arms to rub the skin there, protecting himself from your scrutiny.

You wanted to apologize for your disrespect, but felt it was less awkward to ignore your mistake. Stammering your name, you made an effort to get a conversation going, “A-are you here to show me around?”

“Gaara,” he said flatly, prolonging the silence you caused. His gaze heavy, weighing some decision or another you were far from privy to. Or perhaps he was practicing his poker face?

He nodded, closing his black-rimmed eyes briefly. “I can do that.”

***

Stealing furtive glances over your shoulder, the prospect of daily traipsing up and down those daunting stairs filled you with dread still. Kankuro—that fulsome flirty liar could kick rocks and stub his big toe—you would not get used to it.

Your stomach growled vociferously, and you prayed Gaara did not hear it being merely three paces ahead. He stopped, turned to stare fixedly at your reddened face, and the corners of his firm mouth raised so slightly that you could not tell if the action was subconscious or you imagined it.

“The market,” he drawled, the timbre of his voice tingling your ears pleasantly, “is an agreeable start.”

He did not slow down his pace, unawares of your impuissant limbs and waning stamina—which you blamed solely on your change of purlieu. So you foolishly stared at his feet instead of your surroundings as you realistically _should be observing Suna as to not get lost_. Instead you marveled at how his footfalls made nary a sound and somewhat chagrined that Gaara dressed so much better than you—especially in your current faded casual ensemble circa two years after it went out of style. 

You took solace in the fact that you were not here to impress any peacocks.

At the very least, it seems he led you straight until the smaller avenue cut into a much larger street. Countless caravans and collapsible stands were in varying stages of setting up along the sides of the main road, but there was plenty of room. Some people sold disparate wares directly on sprawling sheets weighed down by rocks purposely placed on the corners. 

Food, fabric, scented oils… The most common goods you noted. Well, aside from a masked individual offering imported books—specifically the next of the _Icha Icha_ series but you would bet the clothes on your back that the product was counterfeit

The scent of warm dough made your mouth water, but there was a different constituent you could not place. For a moment, you believed you wandered into a village from an antecedent century.

“How unexpectedly charming.”

“It’s much more lively in fall and late spring.” He averted his blue-green eyes, the skin where his eyebrows should be creased, but you made an effort to not overtly gawk. If you touched his brow, would you feel faint stubble or would it be silky smooth?

You felt he had something else to add, but instead he walked to a canopied food cart, where the peculiar fragrance was most strong. You fell next to him while he ordered sand dumplings, and the old woman—her skin like cracked leather—refused to accept payment. 

Suddenly, your mouth felt too dry. “Excuse… Do you have… water?”

From under sun bleached broken bangs, she glowered with beady black eyes. Gaara interjected on your behalf, “Cactus juice instead, please.”

On a dime, her disposition entirely changed, giving the taller man an affectionate, honest-to-god-best-customer-service-ever smile. “Of course, my esteemed lord!”

In short order, she handed both the delicious dumplings and the fairly warm—for lack of sufficient refrigeration—juice. It had a faint green hue with bits of pulp and other fibrous material within. It likely tasted a zillion times better cold, but you found it refreshing regardless. Especially since you inhaled the food like something fierce.

 

But you had to keep the conversation going and hopefully fix what stymied it so unexpectedly, “Makes me realize how much water is taken for granted in Konoha. I don’t even have a sink,” you chuckled, but you were so rambling.

He nodded, only speaking after fully eating his dango. “Yes. It’s very rare to have running water. Most citizens use public baths and outhouses.”

“Guess I should marry the first person I find with a modern toilet, eyyyy, _esteemed lord_?” You nudged him with your elbow. You might not like the desert, but you were certainly having a blast with the people.

Gaara coughed, his hand covering his mouth so you couldn’t see if he smiled at your lame joke. After composing himself, eyes narrowed in pensive thought, he spoke in a serious tone, “Konoha is a beautiful place, so it is easy to find beauty. Suna is harsh and less forgiving, but when you find its charms, it is always in your heart.”

“Lord Kazekage! I was looking for you,” Kankuro called in utter exasperation after jumping down from a nearby domed building… as shinobi were wont to do. “What are you up to?”

“I was showing our guest around,” Gaara stated unequivocally, as if his answer explained everything. 

“Matsuri…” Kankuro trailed, frowning, and you noted he wore a much more complicated pattern with his makeup today. “The meeting got moved up.”

“How unfortunate. I’ll have to cut the tour short,” he apologized and straight up vanished—you thought—but you were not responsive. Not in the least.

_Kazekage._

“I need a drink.”

Kankuro slung an arm over your shoulder, the weight alone jostling you. “I can help with that.”


	3. Sit Next to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm saying come over here sit next to me  
> We can see where things go naturally  
> Just say the word and I'll part the sea  
> Just come over here and sit next to me  
> And I'll take you high, high"
> 
> [Foster the People — Sit Next to Me](https://youtu.be/BKLVpDTZOPQ)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This dialogue was too much fun to write. Most of the typos should be in the last half since I wrote it on my phone at work... I just was too excited to get it up and I am so beat right now. 
> 
> Likely be getting in my proofreading as the week progresses.

Kankuro’s idea of going out for drinks was unique, to say the least. He took you to an unmarked hole in the wall, and even if your mind was not reeling in shame, you doubted you would find this bar without assistance.

The patrons—though very few—and bartender must have been ninjas what with the standard-issue flak jackets and hitai-ate to boot. And to say nothing of the steel cut of ever observant eyes in room just barely illuminated enough for you to see the words on the liquor bottles. 

The bartender nodded at Kankuro, and took a long drag from the slender kiseru in his hand, milky smoke billowing and quickly dissipating.

A dumb comment about day drinking danced on the tip of your inappropriate tongue, but held it back, not wanting to make yet another mistake.

Taking a seat at the bar, Kankuro hovering by your side, the bartender asked, his voice a disparate combination of rough intonation and soft whispers not unlike the smoke escaping his mirthless mouth, “What d’ya want?”

Partially intimidated, you averted your gaze, and inclined your head towards Kankuro, “I’ll have what he is having.”

Though he never spoke, the bartender placed two glasses filled with clear, slightly amber liquid—likely a beverage Kankuro oft drank. You took a tentative sip, blanching at the bitter burn. 

“It’s distilled from a local flower,” he chuckled, obviously taking note of your expression. “Need a mixer?”

The man behind the counter shot a simpering stare at the puppeteer’s way.

“No, I’ll just drink it slow.” No way you were pissing of the bartender. Feeling a need to fill the vast discommodious void, you added, “You that thirsty, huh?”

Immediately realizing the double entendre, you played it off, tracing the growth lines in the wooden counter, briefly wondering if was imported or from one of the few trees grown near oases. 

He finally took his seat, sipping the bitter liquor with a low chuckle. Instead of answering, he placed a hefty stack of papers, neatly held in place by a binder clip. 

You looked from the papers to his face with confusion. 

Kankuro grinned widely. “I did tell you about that paperwork yesterday.” He set a wonderfully weighted metallic pen—the type that always gets stolen—atop the stack.

You grunted, taking another sip. “And here I thought you wanted to hear a boring story?” The moment the words left your mouth, you knew it sounded so much more clever in your head as most retorts do.

“We have plenty of time for that later,” he leaned close, voice deepening an octave, “but I won't stop you from regaling me.”

Aaaaand suddenly that paperwork seemed so much safer, so much easier to handle. Making a point to avoid eye contact, you unclipped the stack, and held the cool pen in your dominant hand. Skimming the grandiloquent wording, you became increasingly aware of how similar the documents were to the ones you filled out in Konoha.

Blah, blah, non disclosures.

Blah, joint-citizenship during the two year tenure.

Blah, any findings may be utilized by the Allied Peace Corps to further the livelihood of Kaze no Kuni and any other nation(s). Blah. Blah.

You made short work of the papers, surprisingly enough, lining the documents neatly before binding them with the clip. Stalling, you fiddled with the pen until it was placed _just right_. You did not want to look at—you turned your face towards Kankuro, leaning on his palm, half lidded eyes shimmering with élan. He wore a smirk, half arrogant, half bemused.

“You don’t know how to relax do ya?” Much like the day before, his exasperating pluck indicated he pose no question that he did not already know the answer to.

Fire burning in your veins, heart racing, you opened your mouth to say an amaroidal reprisal, but you had the wherewithal to hold back. You always said regretful things in the heat of emotion. So you took another drink, the lesser of two evils.

“Well you sure know how to make a date awkward,” you chuckled, passing the comment off as a joke—the most watered down version of what you really wanted to say. Because even though you know you will regret it, you cannot help but say it eventually anyway.

Better to get it out of your system under your own terms… like ripping off that old, pus encrusted bandaid. 

Kankuro laughed riotously, earning peculiar stares from the patrons who soon returned to their leisures once the initial interest abated. “Oh? This is a date, now is it?”

Aaaaaand your bitter liquor became your best friend. You took a elongated swig to hinder talking—when did it become so full? You stared at the bartender’s back, shaking with silent laughter. It was not to find something else to look at besides Kankuro… who kept on talking, totally unhindered.

“I thought we were just getting some work done and having a drink. Platonically. Though,” he paused with feigned dramatics, “this is much more like a date than what I interrupted with Lord Kazekage.”

Your face reddened like a ripe sunkissed tomato, and suddenly you did not want them in the greenhouse.

Punching his arm all the while praying he gets a bruise, you retorted, “Yeah day drinking and a date with a ninja whose liking working.”

He shrugged, a graceful rolling of his shoulders. “After the war, some have gotten more overindulgent. Not I, however.”

You frowned, partially tuning out his words.

“What's that look for?” he poked your face, and you flinched.

You pointed at his glass. “Not overindulging?”

“Moderation.”

Sliding the papers closer to him, you casually took a sip, contemplating how to phrase your statement. “Here’s the papers, so your work is done.”

He tucked them away, or whatever it was that shinobi did with all of the items they always seem to carry around. “Yeah. Guess it's date time.”

“Eh? How about no? I’m not a cheap woman.” The liquor started to affect you, the seconds seemed longer, but you were aware of it at least—you needed to be extra mindful of your behavior.

“Besides,” you edged close to him, cupping the side of his face with your hand, thumb rubbing his painted face and hoping to smear it. “You wear more makeup than a girl.”

“It's not—" He huffed, gaining the composure he momentarily lost, and leaned into your hand playfully. “You talk to Lord Kazekage with that bad bedside manner?”

You pushed his face away, using some force. “You're such an awful flirt.”

The door opened, creaking loud over the muted din of the dim bar. Kankuro and you… were likely not the quiet sort, but no one seemed to mind. Outside sunlight blinded your eyes—adjusted to the lack thereof—and from that blindness appeared a woman, her long tawny hair in slight disarray.

Yet it looked so natural.

The woman scowled, her hand on her hip. Was she angry at the man next to you… at you?

“I heard you strong armed Lord Kazekage into some sightseeing and now you’re _drinking_ ,” she glowered—definitely at you. Her expression shifted into something softer, more friendly. “I like your style. Room for one more?” 

“No, Matsuri. I’m on a date with this nice woman.”

“Please sit next to me,” you hopped to an adjacent stool, to give room for Matsuri to become a living wall between Kankuro and yourself.


End file.
